Текст книги "The masked witches"

Автор книги: Richard Lee Byers

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But he couldn t afford to pay attention to it. He had to trust the griffon to deal with the close combat while he fought the witches hanging back to attack at range.

There were three of them. The one on the left wore brown robes and a wooden mask through which her milky eyes peered. She was pointing a dagger at him. The witch in the middle sported a black cloak and hood sewn with an over-layer of dangling bones. Her mask was a leering skull face that had evidently come from a real skull. In contrast to the others, the third witch had thrown back her cloak to reveal a spindly form clad only in a steel mask and a ragged, mold-spotted shift. Intricate tattooing crawled on every inch of her exposed gray skin.

All three were already chanting and sweeping their arcane foci through mystic passes. Aoth discharged another of the ones stored inside his spear.

A curtain of flying slashing blades flashed into existence and flew toward the trio. The witch with the milky eyes and the one cloaked in bones reeled out of the spell s effect with clothes and flesh tattered. The former s left arm hung useless, all but severed. But the tattooed hathran sprang clear like a cat, before any of the blades could touch her. She snarled the final word of her spell and clenched her fist.

A cloud of swirling vapor burst into existence around Aoth. His eyes burned, flooding with blinding tears. The same fire seared him from his nostrils and his lips all the way down into his chest. He coughed and choked, unable to catch his breath.

Aoth activated the tattoo he wore to counter poison, slapping at it through his mail. The burning abated for him, but he could still feel the echo of Jet s distress.

The griffon spread his wings, lashed them, and leaped, carrying them clear of the cloud. Shaking, he retched and spat.

Are you all right? asked Aoth.

Fine! the griffon said with a snarl. Just don t let them do it again!

Aoth could tell the griffon wasn t fine. He, himself, could barely breathe and barely see. But Jet was right. There was no time for anything but battle.

Blinking, Aoth cast about for the trio of undead hathrans. Residual sickness from the poison and dazzling flashes Jhesrhi and Cera fighting their own foes with conjured fire and sunlight made it harder to find them than it should have been. The first thing to catch his eye was a corpse lying in the fog cloud, slowly warping from wolf back into man, while a pair of lupine shadows charged out of the vapor after Jet. Vandar, painted with blood from at least two wounds, swung his sword and cut a hathran s neck.

Finally, Aoth located his particular foes in the flickering, lunging chaos. He leveled his spear and rattled off an incantation. A blast of wind sent the witch with the nearly severed arm staggering back amid the flying blades, still slashing away in the area where he d placed them. There came a rapid thunk-thunk-thunk as the magic hacked her to pieces.

One down! But at that same instant, the hathran with the mantle of bones thrust out her withered arm, and a ragged flare of darkness exploded from the tips of her jagged nails.

Aoth invoked the protective power of another tattoo. He didn t think there was anything else he could do. But though Jet was still half blind, defending by sheer instinct against shadow wolves that kept darting in, biting, and retreating, the griffon nonetheless perceived the witch s threat. With another great spring and beating of his wings, he leaped above the magic that, an instant later, splintered the front of the hut like a barrage of razors. And he landed right in front of the creature who d cast it.

The witch flourished her cape. Bones tore loose from it and battered Aoth like sling stones. Crying out at the pain, he charged his spear with destructive power and thrust.

The head of the weapon flared blue as it drove deep into the witch s chest. With a thunderous boom, force blasted out from the point of penetration and tore her body to shreds.

Jet whirled to confront the shadow wolves again. As he did so, Aoth glimpsed Cera hurling a shaft of light from the spherical head of her mace. Meanwhile, a second mace seemingly made of radiance and wielded by an invisible hand bashed a werewolf and held it away from her. Jhesrhi, standing straight and tall, had wrapped herself in blue and yellow flame from head to toe and was engaging the undead witches in a duel of spells.

Aoth located his remaining opponent just as the tattooed lines leaped from her flesh in a flying tangle. The leading edge of the spell s effect lashed him like whips before settling on him like a wire net.

The strands slithered around him and started to draw tight. He snarled words of power, and, straining against the constriction, sought to drag his hand through the proper mystic figure. The undead creature raised her hands high, her rotting skin hanging in rags freeing the tattoos that had all but flayed her. As she lashed her hands down, they blurred into the hands of a troll, too large for her arms, with greenish hide and long claws.

The hathran screamed and sprang over Jet s head. But at that instant, Aoth completed his counterspell. The animated mesh sizzled out of existence.

He snapped his spear into line and impaled the witch. He sent power surging through the weapon and blasted her apart.

He felt an instant of savage satisfaction. But the feeling crashed into dismay as Jet collapsed beneath him, and a feeling of cold, numb weakness flooded across their psychic link.

Aoth had to get out of the saddle lest he end up pinned under the griffon s body. He willed the straps holding him in place to unbuckle themselves, heaved himself clear, and slammed down into the snow.

At once, a hathran in a fanged, slant-eyed mask loomed over him, but Vandar rushed at her and distracted her. Aoth floundered to his feet and, furious at what the creatures had done to Jet, leveled his spear at the shadow wolves that were still tearing at the griffon.

The beasts rounded on Aoth and charged. He infused the head of his spear with blazing, crackling lightning and met the first with a thrust to the chest that burned the creature from existence.

The other lunged inside his reach and tried to snap its fangs shut on his arm. But although mere steel links couldn t have kept them out of his flesh, the enchantments bound in the metal did. Aoth dropped the spear, growled a word that concentrated stinging power in his fist, and hammered it down on the phantom creature s head. The creature withered away to nothing.

Aoth automatically cast about, making sure no new foe was advancing to attack him, then touched Jet s mind with his own. The familiar was alive but unconscious, and in urgent need of care.

Cera could provide it, but she, Jhesrhi, and Vandar were still fighting. Aoth pivoted and snarled incantations, scarcely pausing between one and the next, as he hurled darts of light and booming thunderbolts until every last hathran, werewolf, and shadow beast was gone.

Gasping and stumbling, Cera hurried to Jet s side. Vandar and Jhesrhi followed. The Rashemi looked shaky and spent with his rage having run its course, and he was finally feeling the effects of the superficial but bloody cuts in his scalp and forearm. Only Jhesrhi appeared untouched by all that had transpired as she snuffed her aura of flame.

What happened? Cera asked. She dropped to her knees beside the griffon that, even crumpled in the snow, made her look as small as a child by comparison.

The shadow wolves, Aoth said.

Will he be all right? Vandar asked.

You d better hope he will be, said Aoth.

Why in the name of the Black Hand did you attack before I gave the signal?

I don t take orders from you! Vandar snapped, before taking a breath. But understand, the fury is a gift of the spirits, and sometimes it takes us when they will it. I think maybe the oak telthor raised it in me because he couldn t have lasted much longer.

Aoth realized he d forgotten all about the ghostly giant. He glanced in the direction of the blighted tree and discovered the apparition had disappeared. I don t care about your stinking spirit, he said.

Enough! Cera said. Both of you, be quiet and let me work.

She whispered a prayer, and her hands glowed as she laid them on Jet s flank. She moved them to his neck specifically, to another spot where a shadow beast had bitten the griffon, Aoth surmised, although he didn t know how she could tell and did the same thing there. Then she infused the tip of a wing with Amaunator s healing light.

Gradually, the magic did its work. Aoth could feel the change in Jet as the oblivion of near-death gave way to ordinary sleep.

Aoth took a deep breath, then let it out again. You did it, he said. He s going to be all right.

I know, Cera replied, stroking Jet s head. Grunting, she tried to stand. Aoth helped her. She looked at Vandar and said, I have a little power left. Enough to tend you, too.

Do that, said Aoth. Then the two of you stay with Jet. Jhesrhi and I are going to go and check on something.

As he led her into the trees, the wizard said, I m glad Jet s going to live.

He s too cantankerous to die, Aoth replied. Do you ever wonder why no matter where we go anymore, we end up fighting the undead?

The bare hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Jhesrhi s mouth for a moment, then vanished. I take it we re going to see if they crawled out of the tomb you and Cera found, she said. Or if we can figure out where else they came from.

Yes, Aoth replied. Once again, some footprints would be helpful.

Jhesrhi shrugged. Undead, even the ones that still have a physical form, tend to be good at sneaking around, she said.

Werewolves, too, I imagine. They may not even have needed a spell to avoid making tracks.

That still doesn t explain why, if they came from outside the grove, Jet and I didn t see them when we were flying around above the treetops. Aoth said.

They reached the spot where the hole led into the tomb. Aoth crawled in, the gnarled roots catching on his clothing and in the links of his mail. Jhesrhi followed and set the head of her brass staff burning like a torch. They stalked on down the stairs, only to find the same vacant, echoing passages he and Cera had explored before.

And as before, he and his companion ended up in the hub by the sarcophagus when their search was done. He resisted a childish impulse to kick it.

Uramar studied the stocky, tattooed war mage with the luminous blue eyes and the tall, golden-haired elementalist with the fiery staff. It wasn t difficult. As people commonly reckoned distance, they were only a couple of paces away. In another, equally valid sense, they and their frustration occupied a completely different world.

From their remarks to one another, Uramar gathered that the frustration stemmed partly from the fact that the tattooed man was accustomed to seeing whatever existed to be seen. But at the moment, it was his misfortune to be looking for something invisible to any form of vision, even truesight.

Uramar s invisibility gave him an advantage. He could spring forth and strike by surprise. As his hands clenched on the hilt of his greatsword, an assortment of his broken souls whispered to him.

Kill them

It will be easy

Kill them, reanimate them, and then they can serve our cause

But as was often the case, other voices disagreed.

No. You saw how formidable they are

If there was only one, yes, but there are two

Don t risk giving away our secrets. A better opportunity will surely come along

For a moment, the clamor set pain throbbing in Uramar s temples, and he staggered a step and groaned. Then the contradiction resolved itself, and he knew that he should indeed wait.

Such being the case, there was no point in letting proximity to the mortals tantalize the more bloodthirsty parts of his nature any further. He turned and crept away. Instinct made him silent even though he knew that really, the folk behind him wouldn t notice even if he shouted at the top of his mismatched lungs.

THREE

Jhesrhi had noticed that few structures in Immilmar looked particularly new. Apparently Rashemi saw little reason to put up a new building until an old one had rotted out and fallen down. But even by local standards, the whitewashed longhouse called the Witches Hall had an air of antiquity about it. It was easy to believe that the dragons, unicorns, and hounds carved under the eaves had glared their forbiddance at the first Iron Lord to walk the city s muddy, unpaved streets.

And forbiddance it would surely have been, for as the summons had made clear, even when the Wychlaran saw fit to call nonhathrans to their sanctuary, that didn t mean they were invited into the sacred precincts of the hall. As Jhesrhi, Aoth, and Cera approached, a masked woman stepped forward from her post before the front entrance and gestured for the newcomers to follow her.

She led them around to the south side of the longhouse, where someone had either dug out a small amphitheater or had taken advantage of a natural depression in the ground to fashion one. Somebody had removed some of the snow, too, but Jhesrhi suspected the plank benches would still make cold, damp seating for those who, unlike her, didn t have fire flowing in their veins.

By the Pure Flame, Aoth muttered.

When Jhesrhi glanced around, she saw what had annoyed him. She knew he d hoped the summons was for him and his comrades alone, or at worst for them, Vandar, and other representatives of the Griffon Lodge. Plainly that wasn t the case, for Dai Shan, the leader of the Shou, and Mario Bez were approaching, each accompanied by several of his men. The skyship captain shot Aoth a grin as he made a point of claiming a seat right beside him.

The heroes of the day, Bez said. Congratulations.

We were ready for them, Aoth replied with a shrug.

Still, even for dragon slayers, it can t have been easy to contend with undead spellcasters and superior numbers, the captain said. You should have told me what you intended. I could have spared a few men to stay and lie in wait with you.

And win the Storm of Vengeance a share of the credit if the killers actually did show up? Cera asked.

Bez spread his hands in mock dismay. Sunlady, you wound me, he said. Naturally, my concern would have been your safety, and Lady Jhesrhi s.

Jhesrhi decided there was no reason to pay further attention to what Bez had to say. He was more than likely sniffing for information which Aoth and Cera were too wary to give him and his was the sort of oblique, bantering conversation that made her feel tongue-tied and dull. Well, except sometimes, when it was Gaedynn

With a scowl, Jhesrhi pushed the archer s face with its shrewd eyes and flippant smirk out of her mind. In search of distraction, she watched Mangan Uruk, Vandar, and Folcoerr Dulsaer arrive. The berserker wore his beadwork regalia, and the half-elf had a sneer for each of his rivals.

Almost as soon as everyone had found a seat, they all had to stand up again as masked witches filed out of the longhouse.

They were not alone. Ghostly telthors flew, padded, bounded, scurried, or crawled along with them. In that first moment, Jhesrhi made out a hawk, a vulture, two bears, a squirrel, an otter, and a snake. Many of the creatures flickered, visible one instant and gone the next. None left any tracks in the snow. Their profusion reminded Jhesri that Rashemen was filled with nature spirits.

A number of the smaller familiars accompanied their mistresses to their seats on the benches. The others looked down on the assembled humans from the top of the amphitheater, or perched on the limbs of nearby trees.

One hathran had no phantom companion that Jhesrhi could see. Clad in a simple leather mask and brown hooded robe, she remained standing at the bottom of the amphitheater, and, when she was ready, slashed a bluewood wand through an intricate figure. Nothing overt happened as a result. Maybe it was simply a way of asking the gods to bless the gathering, for a hathran s arts were a mixture of the priestly and the arcane. It was a disorderly hodgepodge to Jhesrhi s way of thinking, but maybe she wasn t giving the barbarians enough credit.

Be seated, said the witch. She had a cold contralto voice that carried well. Many of you know me, but not all. I m Yhelbruna. With the help of Vandar Cherlinka, I brought the griffons down from the mountains. I m also the one who cast the runes and determined that it isn t necessarily the will of the spirits that this living treasure remain in Rashemen, disappointing and bewildering as that seemed. Word of the beasts existence, the news that drew Aglarondans, Theskians, and sellswords here, went out at my behest.

At times, she continued, an unexpected wry note entering her voice, I regretted that action, for you travelers began to arrive, and, to my embarrassment and the Iron Lord s, I still had no clear idea of the spirits plan for the griffons. But in light of recent events, and after prayer and meditation, I do now.

Aoth leaned forward. Cera took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Bez called, Who gets the animals, then? Don t keep us in suspense.

Although their masks, voluminous garments, and air of aloof dignity made it difficult to be certain, Jhesrhi had the feeling that some of the hathrans were taken aback that he d had the temerity to speak without permission.

Yhelbruna, however, answered without any show of resentment.

I have no wish to keep you in suspense, Captain, and I promise I ll give you an answer soon enough, she said.

But there are things you need to hear first in order to understand it.

Aoth snorted. Leaning toward Cera, and Jhesrhi on the other side of her, he whispered, Someday a matter will be simple and straightforward again, and we ll realize we ve forgotten how to react.

For about a year, Yhelbruna continued, the undead have been troubling Rashemen. This, of course, is scarcely a unique occurrence. Our land is rich in magic and old as well. In ages past, it was home to folk who trafficked with dark powers. It s the kind of place where the dead are going to wake and walk from time to time.

Still, of late, there s simply been too much of it. The ghosts and revenants have been too powerful, and too intent on doing harm for harm s sake.

Dulsaer shook his head. Aren t they always intent on doing harm for harm s sake? he said.

Actually, no, said Aoth, not always. Although they may have vile hungers to satisfy, and an innate viciousness that prompts them to attack anyone they happen to encounter. But I get the feeling High Lady Yhelbruna is talking about more than that.

The hathran nodded. I am, she said. On our journey into the High Country, Vandar and I encountered an undead hag and some zombie goblins going to considerable trouble to break a Raumathari demon trap, for no discernible reason other than malice. There have been a number of similar incidents, including the recent outrage in the sacred grove, which was probably the most flagrant example of all.

Dai Shan cocked his head and placed his rather delicate-looking hands together, fingertip to fingertip. How so, wise priestess? he asked.

In the last century, Yhelbruna said, we Wychlaran had a falling out among ourselves. Some of our sisters, who came to be called the durthans, turned to commerce with wicked spirits and the fey, and formed their own secret sorority in our midst. And when we started to unmask them, they fled to strongholds in the wilderness, where they plotted to seize the control of the realm. When the opportunity presented itself as it did when our foes the Thayans started fighting among themselves we had no choice but to stamp them out.

Dulsaer nodded. I ve heard something about this

Witch War of Rashemen, he said.

Indeed, said Yhelbruna, although with a hint of distaste in her tone, as if she found the name vulgar. And I m bringing it up because we ve identified the creatures who attacked the grove.

Apparently restless, a transparent jay with a streaked crown fluttered up from a copper-masked hathran s shoulder. A misty adder coiled in its mistress s lap lifted its wedge-shaped head to track the other telthor s flight.

I take it, Vandar said, that they were durthans when they were alive.

Yes, Yhelbruna answered. A formidable coven that caused a great deal of misery working from a lair in the Erech Forest. When we finally found them, killed them, and buried them, we took considerable pains to ensure that they wouldn t rise again.

Jhesrhi made a little spitting sound. Incompetents, she whispered. They should have burned the corpses.

Or at least she thought she had whispered. But to her surprise and embarrassment, Yhelbruna replied to her. You re right, said the witch. But some of the women had been fine hathrans before they turned down the wrong path. So we chose to lay them to rest with the rites that are due a hathran, and the fact of the matter is, no one should ever have been able to find them, let alone reanimate them.

Yet apparently someone did, Cera said. Or else they came back because of some other influence.

And that s not the extent of the mystery, Yhelbruna said. We buried them in the Erech Forest, which is to say, in the northwest, on the other side of Lake Ashane. How, then, did they make their way to the outskirts of the Ashenwood without being detected?

Flying by night? Dulsaer suggested. Surely at least a few of you witches have mastered that particular magic.

Possibly, Yhelbruna said, although by day or night, we hathrans have watchers in the sky. Still, why come so far?

Because the oak spirit only lives a stone s throw from Immilmar, said Aoth. If I wanted to scare and demoralize the realm, I d strike in this area if I could manage it.

Interesting, said Yhelbruna. You outlanders all have your own ways of seeing and thinking, and perhaps that s what we need.

Scowling, Mangan Uruk rose. High Lady, no one respects your wisdom more than I do, he said. And I respect our guests. But I have to say one more time that I don t like this. Rashemen doesn t need sellswords.

Yet you yourself pressed Captain Bez s skyship into service, the hathran replied.

The Iron Lord hesitated. That was a special situation, he said. I saw a need to reach the grove faster than a horse could run.

And it s possible we need all of the outlanders capabilities, Yhelbruna said. All their insights, magic, and methods of making war. Believe me, I don t take any satisfaction in the thought. How could I? We Wychlaran are as proud of our skills as you warriors are of yours. But the truth of the matter is that our problem is growing worse, and neither of us has been able to solve it. We mustn t let pride keep us from obtaining help from those the spirits sent to give it.

So what you re saying, said Aoth, is that you want to hire us to put a stop to your infestation of undead, and the payment will be the griffons.

The Three have instructed the Wychlaran to proclaim a quest to benefit the realm, answered the hathran. They also provided a reward for those who fulfill it.

What if more than one group plays a part in solving your problem? asked Bez.

We ll turn the griffons over to all who do, and you can divide them as you see fit, she replied.

Or dice for the lot of them, or fight a duel, the skyship captain said. I suppose that will work.

High Lady, called Dulsaer, springing to his feet.

Surely you don t mean to ask a Thayan wizard for help when Rashemen is under attack by necromancy.

We ve been through this, Aoth replied.

In the first place, I m Szass Tam s enemy more than you ll ever be. In the second, I doubt Thayan agents are waking the dead this far north of the border. Especially if no one s spotted legions mustering on the far side of the Gorge of Gauros for an attack.

Cera grinned at the half-elf. And in the third place, what s the matter? she said. Are you afraid of the competition?

Dulsaer glared and opened his mouth for what he likely intended to be a savage retort. Yhelbruna cut him off: All of you are here by the will of the Three, she said.

Then that includes me and my lodge brothers, Vandar said, rising like the others. I m not an outlander with foreign insights, magic, and methods of making war. But you know better than anyone that I ve been in this from the start. I helped preserve the demon trap, I helped catch the griffons, I helped save the oak spirit

After making the job harder than it needed to be, Aoth murmured. and I demand the right to try to win the griffons.

Yhelbruna looked back at Vandar in silence for a moment. In fact, it seemed to Jhesrhi that everything had fallen silent, like the world was holding its breath.

If I recall correctly, the hathran said at length, the last male to demand anything of an assembly of the Wychlaran hopped away from this very amphitheater on four webbed feet.

The berserker took a breath. Still, I do demand it, he said.

Then it s just as well that we meant to include you anyway, Yhelbruna said, with perhaps the slightest hint of humor in her voice. This is chilly weather for frogs.

It appears, then, Dai Shan said, that we understand our task, and we know who else intends to strive for the greater glory of this noble land.

Please, said Dulsaer, sneering. The sellswords and berserkers are at least soldiers of a sort. You Theskians are merchants. What are you going to do? Bribe the undead to go away?

The small Shou in his long green coat rose. He turned to face Dulsaer and spread his hands. Shadows, hitherto scarcely noticeable in the afternoon sunlight, stretched and darkened, and gloom gathered in the air. Dai Shan leaped, or maybe simply vanished, and then he was standing on a patch of empty bench directly in front of Dulsaer. He snapped a punch at the griffonrider s face.

Startled, Dulsaer failed to react. The blow would surely have smashed his nose except that Dai Shan stopped it an inch short of the target. The murk in the air cleared, and the sunshine streamed back.

Is this how it works? Yhelbruna asked. We show leniency to one man, and the rest of you decide you re free to brawl in our presence?

Dai Shan turned and bowed to her. Noblest of ladies, he said, one could quibble over the appropriateness of the word brawl when no one has touched anyone else. But I m not a quibbler. I take your point, and I apologize. Vanity got the better of me. There are occasions when I find it useful to be underestimated, but in the main, I prefer to be taken seriously.

Demonstrate your prowess by destroying the undead, Yhelbruna said. That goes for all of you. Understand, we aren t requiring you to do it all by yourselves. You can apply to the Iron Lord for additional warriors or any other help you need. But still, ultimately, the task is yours.

She flicked her wand through another intricate figure. Then she led the other hathrans and the glimmering telthors out of the amphitheater. Everyone else stood in silence as they passed.

When they were gone, Bez leered at Aoth. Well, what do you say, Fezim? Partners?

Aoth shifted his grip on his spear. His mail clinked. It s something to consider, he replied.

Come on, said the captain. I don t understand everything you and these lovely ladies accomplished in Chessenta this past year. I don t know how anyone could make sense of all the stories. But it seems to have involved unraveling mysteries and secrets, and that s what s needed now. No one will ever stop these undead until we know how and why they re rising.

True enough, said Aoth. That s what my friends and I can cook for the feast. What do you have to contribute?

Surely that s plain, Bez replied.

You left your company in winter quarters; I brought mine. This is likely to come down to real battles, not just skirmishes in the woods, before it s over. When that happens, you want to stand with your fellow professionals, not alone, or with a pack of crazy barbarians.

Aoth smiled. You may have a point, he said.

I ve already seen how well crazy barbarians stick to a plan. Equal shares, even though there s a whole shipload of you and only three of us?

Of course. Bez said, thrusting out his hand.

Aoth didn t grasp it. He simply nodded. I ll let you know if I decide to take you up on it, he said.

The skyship captain s eyes narrowed. Are you joking? he asked.

No, replied Aoth. Because I remember Turmish, too, although not the way you claim to. And I ll partner up with you again if I think it s necessary, but not until.

Bez snorted. Suit yourself, Thayan, he said.

Hold a grudge. You ll regret it when I fly off with all the griffons. That s assuming some wraith or ghoul hasn t torn you apart before then. He and his men turned and stalked away.

Aoth turned and cast about. Vandar! Wait! he called, as he started toward the berserker and his lodge brothers.

So we are going to partner up with him? Cera asked, scurrying after him.

If he ll have us, Aoth replied. And much as he dislikes me, I think he will. What happened in the grove shows we can help each other.

Even though he and his folk are crazy barbarians? Cera asked.

Better mad and wild than treacherous, he said.

Uramar scrutinized the hieroglyphs on the limestone wall. Some of his broken selves, the ones who were scholars of esoterica, were interested. They picked out symbols they recognized the names of Abyssal powers and Infernal personages, mostly and muttered as they speculated on the meanings of those they didn t.

He suspected they d keep at it all day if he allowed them to, for it was the first Nar tomb complex he d visited. He and his fellows had mostly begun by waking durthans and other wise Rashemi who d perished in recent times. Those recruits had in turn helped them locate older ruins, barrows, and sunken, overgrown graves.

Of course, that wasn t the only way to find the resting places of the dead. A person could explore unmapped portions of the deathways and see where they led. That, as he understood it, was how his fraternity had discovered the new land in the first place. But it was a dangerous undertaking.

A frantic Stop! reminded him that his current methods weren t entirely safe, either. He pivoted, and his scarred, mottled hands shifted his greatsword into a middle guard.